


Banana Pancakes

by Rixxy8173571m3W1p3



Series: The Fluffy Adventures With Your Boyfriend Doofus Rick [23]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Adorable Doofus Rick (Rick and Morty), Backstory, Based On A Jack Johnson Song, Blushing, Caring, Comfort, Cooking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Doofus Rick Being Sweet, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Hot Chocolate, Nicknames, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pancakes, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, Window Seats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 11:50:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13857198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rixxy8173571m3W1p3/pseuds/Rixxy8173571m3W1p3
Summary: DWC prompt: Why would anyone ever eat anything besides breakfast food?





	Banana Pancakes

You hated this time of year. It was cold, all your seasonal favorites were gone, and there was nothing but terrible Lifetime movie reruns. You sat in the window seat, wearing one of Zeta-7s knitted sweaters, and your notebook. You rolled up the sleeves, seeing as it was oversized, more suited for his long, thin, lanky body, then for your average size, but it was warm, and it smelled just like him.

You didn't really feel like writing today, and instead listened to the sounds of the house. Running water, the clink of porcelain, Rick chopping something in the kitchen, and the wind howling outside your window. You hugged your knees, trying to make yourself small, and tight, as though you would disappear. It reminded you of the days when dad would invite friends over to eat, and you'd hide here, behind the curtain, away from judgmental eyes. You weren't a fan of their wild talk, so you'd listen to your mix tapes, and imagine there were people hiding in the clouds, frolicking in the celestial gardens.

Yet, there usually weren't any clouds in the winter, so you were stuck playing with the fraying strands of the curtains, until you had a pile of dust and strings. Those were some good times, but you didn't come here to hide anymore. These days, it was mostly for fun. Through the curtains, you saw Zeta-7s silhouette. “Knock, knock.” came his sing-song voice.

“Yes?”

“C-c-can I come in?”

He knew about your rules, and how only those chosen may enter this little sacred space of yours. Of course, he respected this, and humored you. “What's the password?”

“I-I-I don't know, but I - I have hot chocolate.”

You held your hand out, and accepted the cup, and took a sip. “Hmm, are you trying to bribe me good sir?” you teased.

“Gosh, I-I-I would - I wouldn't dream of it.”

You tried not to laugh, as he set down the other cup, and bowed. “Only through - through your will, may I enter y-y-y-your presence.”

You tipped your cup back, and found your drink to your liking. “Very well then, give my compliments to the chef.”

“I'll be sure t-t-to do that.”

You drew back the curtain, his towering figure a welcoming sight. You moved aside, and made room for him to sit. It was difficult, considering he was all arms and limbs, but he managed to cross his legs. “It's nice and cozy here. Do - do you ever come here t-t-to read?”

“Sometimes.”

“It's - it's snowing outside. I-I-I wonder if we're going t-t-to have another storm.”

“Maybe.”

He studied you, the lines of his forehead deepened. “W-w-what's the matter?”

You sipped the sweet, rich goodness of your beverage, and thought for a moment as to what you should say. There was so much to say, probably more then he would prefer, but it couldn't be helped. Today, it only took the weather to set you a little off balance. “The usual I think.”

“Are y-y-you sure?” 

“If I tell you, I'd just keep you here for a while. Don't worry it's nothing.”

Setting his cup on the nearby table, he held his arms open. “C’mere, let's - why don't we get comfortable, and if you - if you want, y-y-you can tell me all about it.”

You didn't want him to worry more then he had to, so you acquiesced. You handed him your cup to set aside, and laid against him, his arms wrapped around you. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yeah.”

You sighed, placing your hands over his, and stared at his mismatched socks. “It's about my dad again.”

“Mhm.”

“And I…I miss him. I mean, I'm so happy to have you around, and my life is okay, and usually it's enough, but sometimes, during days like this, I just…I miss him so much, it literally hurts.”

He held you a fraction tighter. “I'm sorry t-t-to hear that. Your dad, he was - he was a good guy, wasn't he?”

You sighed. “He tried to be.”

“It's okay t-t-to miss him, it's - it's only natural.”

“I know.”

“And I'm sure if he saw you now, he would - he would be so proud of you.”

“Look Rick,” you looked up at him, and pressed a hand to his cheek. “you don't have to listen to all this, I know I'm being a downer again.”

“I don't - I don't want you to be unhappy,” leaning into your touch, he softened. “and I'm here if - if you need to talk.”

“You know, that's what I like about you Rick, you're so dependable, and I think I'm going to be fine, for now, as long as I'm here with you.

For a while, you two just sat there, in each other's warmth, and you waited for your bad memories to fade away.

* * *

“I'm about t-t-to make dinner, what would you - would you like?”

“Pancakes.”

With raised brow, he asked. “For dinner? Are y-y-you sure? Not that it's a problem, but I - I could make anything y-y-you want, and you don't have t-to hold back.”

“Of course I want pancakes, I don't see why anyone would ever eat anything besides breakfast food, especially on a day like this where it just seems so right to.”

“Hohoho, alright if that's - if that's what y-y-you want.”

He put on one of your cute little aprons, and set about collecting the ingredients. You worried sometimes that he might hit his head on the low doorway between the kitchen and the pantry closet, but he was careful. “You've been - been doing a good job of keeping the pantry well stocked.”

“Oh you know, gives me an excuse to have you over to cook so I don't have to.”

“You don't - you don't have t-t-to do that, I'm more than happy to cook for you.”

“The least I could do is have the proper ingredients.” you answered.

You retrieved the mixing bowls, and set them in the counter. “Can you make them banana pancakes? Because watching you move around, smiling, has me in a Jack Johnson kind of mood.”

“Gosh,” he blushed. “maybe I ugh - I should play the ukulele.”

“Yes!” you beamed. “After we eat, we could go sit at the window seat, close the curtains, and pretend like there's no world outside.”

“Are you…n-nevermind.”

“What?”

He avoided your gaze, mixing the ingredients.“Y-y-you're not - you're not being facetious?”

“Of course not,” you frowned. “I wish we could pretend all the time, all nice and cozy, you with your sweaters, with me, just having fun.”

“R-r-really?”

“Of course, sweet, honey man of mine.”

He turned towards you, eyes wide, the whisk dripping with batter. Without thinking, he pointed at himself with the whisk, his voice so altered, so raw. “M-m-me?”

Zeta-7s expression was strange, scared, worried, surprised all at once. You hadn't ever intended to say that out loud, but it was too late. “Can I say that, would you mind?” you softened. “Or should I call you a genius, spaceman, darling,” you paused, gauging his reaction, raising your eyes, so he would know your sincerity. "or dear?”

Zeta-7 allowed the whisk to fall, a hand he placed over his heart. For a moment, there was nothing, but the excruciating silence. And then he broke out in a toothy, shining smile, happiness written in the wrinkles about his eyes, deep lines around his mouth, so genuinely sweet, that he forgets himself for a moment, and gathers you in his arms. “I don't mind,” he gushed. “I-I-I don't mind that at all."

If you would have known it would make him so happy, you might have been encouraged to say it a long time ago. You pulled him down, about to kiss him, when you smelled something. “Is something burning?”

He let go, took the smoking pan off the burner, and ran it under some water. “I-I-I-I-I should probably get back t-t-to the pancakes.”

You pouted, but he pressed a kiss on your forehead. “We can,” he coughed, “we can finish t-t-talking about what I - what I mind later.”


End file.
